


Lost

by AnnaofAza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can this be the same man?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

Castiel raises his blade at Dean, fingers clenched tightly around the hilt. If he hadn’t been holding something solid, his hands would have trembled. _Dean._ A swell of emotions rise up in his throat, along with words spinning webs in his mind: _he’s alive; he’s here; Dean._

“Dean,” he says, weeks of mourning clamoring in the space for this swell of joy. Dean opens his mouth, as if to reply, but immediately snaps it shut again. Castiel, without thinking, begins to lower his blade, because _what_ is he doing, pointing a weapon at Dean? A weapon that can kill him so easily—there’s a brief flicker of the crash of sudden grief stricken with rage with Metatron’s vindictive smirk in the background—when Dean is _alive._ He should have known Metatron lied—Metatron _always_ lies—but the silver blade stained with still-wet blood had held his thoughts in a headlock. 

Dean stares back at him, expressionless. He’s holding the First Blade calmly, as if it’s something easy to possess, like the Impala’s keys, with no regard of its consequences. Slowly, he steps forward, and Castiel remembers with a jolt of Sam’s warning: _he’s not the Dean we know anymore._  

He lets the moment stretch out like chewing gum until it passes, snaps right in two, too late.

Dean smiles. Castiel could have believed that it was the same Dean if his eyes didn’t give it away, black shutters closing over familiar green. There’s also something fundamentally wrong about his smile, too, a bit too wide with a certain crook of cruelty.  _He’s not Dean. He’s not Dean._ But he can’t believe it himself.

“Hey, Cas,” he greets.

“Dean,” Castiel repeats again. _Not Dean._ Even so, that’s not enough to force back the warmth in his voice as he speaks. “You’re back.”

“Yup, it’s me. Back in black.” Dean laughs softly to himself and grins all the wider when even Castiel’s lips twitch the slightest bit. “I’m doing well, but I can’t say the same for you.”

“You’re not entirely well yourself, Dean.” Castiel forces his voice to harden, and it’s not too difficult: there were bodies with horrific, cruel slashes across their chests, mouths still open in a wordless scream. Sometimes there wasn't just a single gash, and Castiel remembers a haunted Dean in the warehouse, begging, _Don’t make me do this._ How can this be the same man?

“Oh, I’m doing _great,_ ” Dean smirks, raising both of his arms carelessly skyward. The sunlight catches on the bone blade, glinting in the faintest way. It actually seems to glow, but ominously, as a wolf’s jaws do when bared fully in a snarl. “All those nasty, _bothersome_ emotions...gone. Remember when Sam told me to stow my baggage, back at your place? Well,” he raises his chin high, like a conquering king. “this is me, new and improved.”

“You may have erased your own hurt, but in return, you’re hurting others. _Innocents._ Your brother, for instance.” _Me._ “We’ve been looking for you, Dean.”

“I know, Cas, but I don’t want to be found.” Dean twirls the blade between his fingers almost playfully, looking at it admiringly. “Did you run into Crowley yet? Even the so-called King of Hell can’t put a leash on me.”

“That was cruel,” Castiel replies, but inwardly, a big part of him is pleased. Crowley without his forked, silver tongue...that is rewarding in more ways than one. The Blade seemed to seal all wounds so that they didn’t heal, even on demons, and Crowley’s...impediment would stay that way for a long while. Every time he felt satisfaction, guilt of basking in another’s weakness came soon after. But it was _Crowley_ , his main goal himself and only that.  

“But _I_ enjoyed it,” Dean cocks his head towards Castiel, as if playing a guileless child. “And admit it, you and Sam didn’t exactly weep when Crowley ran to you like a dog with its tail between its legs. Oh, I _know_ ,” he chuckles at Castiel’s widened eyes. “Word gets around quickly, and I hear everything. It’s big press when royalty decides to bow down.”  

“Who are you without him, then, Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes, but indulgently answers his question: “Just _me_ , Cas.”

“This isn’t you.” Castiel steps forward and steels himself before lifting his own blade. “Dean, you killed a lot of demons this past month, but also ended many humans’ lives—“

“Did you look up these _innocents_ you referred to?” Dean’s face twists into disgust and disappointment, but his eyes are bright and passionate. “Some of them beat their wives, their children— _family._ Some of them didn’t even have to use fists—they got someone else to do the dirty work, or...” The last part was rolled around his mouth, then spat out, venomously. “they broke them down over time, berating and criticizing.”

Castiel’s mind immediately snaps to a woman, young with auburn curls and a gold band around her finger, eyes terrified. “The waitress in Detroit—“

“Oh, her?” Dean waves that aside. “She seemed like a nice young lady, didn’t she? But I found out that she knew her boss was hassling his wife, and she sat back and did nothing." He shrugs, and smiles softly to himself, and Castiel feels a jolt rip through him in realization. _He enjoyed it._  "I don’t do these things without reason, Cas," he continues, in an almost bored tone. "I’m still me.”

“No, you’re not.” Castiel argues. “You may think you’re righting the wrong, but people are complex, Dean. They might have been coerced, tricked, or manipulated. And those may not be sufficient excuses,” he starts to amend, as Dean narrows his eyes, black once again swallowing green. “But you can’t keep doing this. This road you’re taking is not righteous, because you’re both the judge and jury. Everything is in your hands, Dean, and that’s a slippery slope.”

“How righteous you are, Cas,” Dean sighs, then hits Castiel next with cruel accuracy: “Considering _you_ were doing about the same thing a year ago. Remember? _Bow down and profess your love, or I shall destroy you_?”

“I remember, but that was _wrong._ I know it’s wrong, Dean, but it wasn’t me, _really_ me. It wasn’t me when I slaughtered angels and humans. It wasn’t me when I broke Sam’s wall. And it wasn’t me, down in the crypt.” He sees Dean flinch at the reminder and pushes. “But Dean, that’s no excuse. I understand the road that took me down that path, and I know I can’t atone for all of my mistakes, but...” He puts all of his fear and hope into his next words. _You’re still my Dean._ “Please, I understand. I want to listen to you. I _know_ it’s you in there. I’ve been there, too, and some part of you is _screaming_ to get out.”

“What if it isn’t? What if I continue doing this? Are you going to kill me, Cas? Is that what you want?” Dean mocks, moving slowly, circling him like a cat. Castiel can smell sulfur, overwhelming and overcrowding the familiar scent of leather and gun oil. His eyes have not flickered back to green. “Not me. You could never do that to me.”

“If necessary, I will. I can’t let you destroy the world, Dean.” _You didn’t let me. You tried to save me. You tried to save the world instead, when that wasn't enough. Dean, I know._

“Been there, done that.” Dean is suddenly right in front of him, and Castiel flinches as Dean’s hand pushes down the arm holding the angel blade. He crowds in, face closer than usual, and hisses in his ear, breath hot and heavy against his bare skin: “Remember, Cas, I know _everything_. You don’t think I haven’t heard? You don’t think I’ve figured it out?”

Castiel is now completely still and quiet. He can hear his heart pounding loudly in his ears and words buzzing in repeating whispers: _this isn’t Dean. Dean Winchester is dead._

“ _One_ human,” Dean breathes, then steps backwards, snapping his fingers calmly as Castiel lunges for him.

Dean is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off all of those Season Ten spoilers about how Dean's current state would drive a wedge between himself and Castiel, and I simply don't believe Castiel would toss him to the wind immediately.


End file.
